Moved By Grace
by linniestorm
Summary: Everyone wants the woman in purple silk, and Jon doesn't like it.


Title: Moved by Grace  
Author: Lindsay Ince  
Disclaimer: Okay, okay, I disclaim already! Paramount have them, even   
though they don't treat them as well as I would.  
Beta: Taryn Eve  
Rating: PG  
Codes: A/S  
Category: UST  
Date: August 13 2002  
Authors Notes: From a CiaC at the Linguistics Database. women - purple - silk  
Summary: Everyone wants the woman in purple silk, and Jon doesn't like it.  
Feedback: Talk Archer/Sato to me baby...yeah ;)  
  
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The whole room seemed to go silent as she came in. A kind of collective   
quiet gasp, at least among the men. In fact, the room was almost entirely   
full of men. He felt their eyes covetously appreciate the curves of her   
body. As he tore his eyes away from her, he saw her reflected in a hundred   
fantasies crossing the eyes of every crewman from Chief Engineer to Armory   
officer and down.  
  
There were too many men on this ship, he thought, with a stab of jealousy.  
  
There was a gentle swishing of the silk as she walked into the room. Each   
of the female crew members who were part of the greeting ceremony had agreed   
the formality of wearing a traditional Pantarkan ceremonial robe. It was a   
necessary undertaking for women on the Pantarkan homeworld when socialising   
in mixed company on formal occasions, although interestingly on normal days   
they wore the same kind of tunic their male counterparts did. Every woman   
must conform or face exile from what was regarded as 'decent' society. The   
traditional garment showed respect for your companions, and mutual respect   
was something he had been eager to encourage. The Elders with whom they   
were making contact had refused to agree to the meeting until that   
stipulation had been agreed to.  
  
Still, the ceremonial robe wasn't necessarily a bad thing, he mused. When   
he had seen the specs in the file, he had immediately imagined it on Hoshi,   
not that he could have conceived how elegantly the style and colour blended   
to enhance her beauty.  
  
Someone,somewhere at sometime on Pantarkan had obviously spent a great deal   
of time designing the ceremonial robe. The Pantarkans were the image of   
colour co-ordination, the purple stunning against the goldish tinge of their   
skin. They had several ridges along their arms and one on each side of the   
cheek, the skin being textured along the top. Their most striking physical   
feature had to be their eyes, a bottle green shade, that almost made them   
stand out from their faces. As different as you could get from human, but a   
handsome species all the same.  
  
There were no females at this initial greeting. A precautionary measure, in   
case the species they were making contact with were violent, or tried to   
take advantage of their wives, sisters and daughters. They had been a   
little hesitant when he had informed them women from the Enterprise were   
going to be there, but Jon felt it was necessary to show them a little of   
human culture from the beginning, and reassure them that they posed no   
threat to any Pantarkan female. He had seen images of the women in the   
files T'Pol had taken from the Vulcan database. They were as stunning as   
the men, although he didn't find them particularly attractive. He saw some   
of them eye her with particular interest, although he couldn't quite figure   
out whether or not it was attraction, or just curiosity.  
  
They were definitely not a prudish society. They were a people who embraced   
the expression of passion and emotion, but they did so within a societal   
framework that was paradoxically strict. The robes were a traditional must,   
yet they were not designed to hide away the beauty of the female population.   
Quite the opposite in fact. It looked rather like a traditional evening   
gown that women wore on Earth, the upper part wrapped around the body like   
an Indian sari, the rest falling around the thighs and calves toward the   
ankle.  
  
And it curved around her figure like a second skin, he noticed, annoyed that   
the same idea would be crossing the mind of every man on the ship. As he   
looked around at them he recognised the expressions that greeted T'Pol as   
she walked around the ship every day. Here, there was no comparison. The   
purple gown did not enhance her complexion, and the blank expression on her   
face could not be beautiful. No one could be successfully compared against   
Hoshi.  
  
She was conducting an animated conversation with the Doctor. It was a most   
unusual pairing for a friendship. Yet another example of what astonished   
him about this crew. On the basis of age, sex and profession you would have   
imagined them to have had nothing in common. Yet there was a bond between   
them he never would have predicted. He interrupted his own thoughts as he   
watched her neck tip back slightly as she laughed, and sighed to himself as   
the material framed her throat.  
  
He wished he could seriously consider making a proposal to Starfleet to   
change the colour of her uniform to the blue-violet colour that currently   
fell about her figure. They might think it extreme, but then, they hadn't   
seen her in that dress.  
  
As she turned side on to where he was standing, he saw how the material wove   
around her neck and a river of flowing purple silk moved down her back to   
the top of her waist. It wasn't low cut, but her arms and shoulders were   
bare. However, the rest of her body was sedately covered down to her thigh,   
where the slit of the wrapped skirt showed a single shapely leg, the other   
only outlined by the fabric. The curves of her body were visible as she   
moved as a result of the suppleness of the silk. The colour was stunning   
against her skin, especially when compared to the slightly yellowed   
complexions of the Pantarkans.  
  
What was she talking about so long with Dr Phlox? It was ridiculous, that   
she reduced him to this: petty jealousy.  
  
Finally. Finally she parted from her conversation with Phlox, her hand on   
his arm as she bid him goodbye. She gracefully walked across the room. His   
hopes were raised as he saw her walk in his direction, only for them to be   
dashed as she was stopped by T'Pol. Mundane business, he decided, from the   
look on his Science Officer's face. It was always mundane business with   
her. Just as he had determined to intervene if the sub-commander tried to   
take her away from the gathering, their conversation finished, and she again   
made her way toward him. She caught his eye and hers glinted. Was it a   
recognition of his admiration? No, her eyes always glinted with life, he   
had to stop himself seeing more than was there. But the possibility that   
she might recognise, or even return his feelings, filled him with momentary   
excitement.  
  
He hoped their Pantarkan guests didn't have a well developed sense of   
hearing, because explaining his thumping heartbeat would be tough in front   
of a room full of people. And her. She was probably the only person in the   
world who could make him blush. A grown man, captain of the first deep   
space expedition, blushing at a girl almost half his age. Still, sometimes   
he allowed himself to wonder, did she guess? He had always tried to be   
careful, but how could she not notice the tingle he felt when their hands   
brushed together when working at a console? Unless she didn't feel anything   
at all.  
  
Not a thought to entertain for a millisecond, he shuddered to himself.  
  
Even though he had been discreetly watching her progress, the sudden life   
that entered his little world shocked him slightly.  
  
"Captain Archer, Dr Phlox has been telling me about his research into   
Pantarkan rituals. Did you know if I hadn't worn this damn thing tonight I   
would have been exiled back to Earth?" He saw her try to stifle a giggle at   
the concept in front of their guests.  
  
"Earth? Is that so?"  
  
"Well, the equivalent distance anyway. I'm starting to wish they had. This   
thing is driving me mad." She roughly grabbed a little of the material   
around her neck and rearranged it.  
  
"That's uncomfortable? Compared to this dress uniform?" He smiled, pulling   
at his own collar that had been digging into his neck all evening.  
  
"Well, I'll swap you. I'm freezing in this!" she complained.  
  
He resisted his first urge to put an arm around her, and went for the next   
best option.  
  
"I can call the Bridge and get them to raise the temperature in here."   
Almost straight away he regretted the implications of that action on   
himself.  
  
She smiled for a moment, touched by thoughtfulness the gesture. "No, I   
think I can manage. Thanks anyway."  
  
She held his gaze for a moment, and he grinned too much, trying to hide his   
discomfort. It wasn't as though he could declare his feelings for her right   
then and there, in a room full of people, tempting as the urge might be. If   
he was being honest with himself that would never happen. But the 'what if'   
fantasies were nice.  
  
Her attention had been drawn away by a group of junior officers interrupting   
their conversation with their Pantarkan counterparts to call her over. She   
turned and meandered away, the material following close behind her, hugging   
her figure. Was it wrong to be jealous of a piece of fabric? Jon turned   
back to the conversation he was supposed to be following with a monotonous   
Pantarkan Elder, and tried to smile appreciatively as he listened to the man   
recount the last twelve thousand years of their most recent history. Every   
man in the room had his eyes on Hoshi. And in between watching her, he   
watched them all watch her. Silently possessive.  
  
There were too many men on the Enterprise, and as he stood on the opposite   
side of the Mess Hall to her, he stood on the bank of a river of men that   
flowed between them, keeping them apart. He watched her walk amongst them,   
smiling, talking, but when he tried to find the courage to reach over to her   
found he couldn't swim. 


End file.
